where daffodils grew
by stormcages
Summary: John Smith dreamt of black, black, black. Until her. Full Title: WHEN I WAS LITTLE, I LIVED BY A PARK WHERE DAFFODILS GREW. I JUST REMEMBERED. River/11 AU.
1. an introduction to black: night terrors

Black.

Black.

Black.

Black. Black. Black. Black. Black.

Black.

He lay on his back and stared, watching the fan spin in circles over his head. He tried to count. He succeeded. When the numbers began to count themselves, he turned to face the wall and stared again.

The problem with remembering everything was remembering the nothing. When John opened his eyes, he could sit through hours of blackness that never shifted or stirred, if he wanted. As he started to remember the black, he stood up and put on his clothes, pulling on pants and socks and shirt and then wandering into the bathroom. He could see the black as he watched himself in the mirror, one hand in his hair and one hand on his toothbrush. He could remember the black as he ate breakfast and drove to work. He could remember the black minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day.

John stopped dreaming after the war. He could still remember the sounds of death and the sounds of life right before death. He could remember the stiffness of the cold hands and arms as he tried to move them, as he tried to shout them awake. "Breathe!" he'd cried. He remembered the smell of blood and the smell of decay and he remembered shutting his eyes on the battlefield as he turned and ran away from all the swollen bodies corpulent with blood. He ran away. And as he ran away, he remembered praying.

His prayers were answered. His dreams had disappeared and run away, just like he had. Stolen away. So every night, John got his black dreams and every morning they'd be there to pad the silences.

That night, John closed his eyes and dreamt of black.

Black.

Black.

Black.


	2. the wedding of amy pond: of river song

John went through best friends quickly. Susan and Sarah and Ace and Romana. And Martha and Donna and Peri and Amy. Rose. Amy was the latest and she held on fiercely, as if knowing he was bound to end up leaving. They'd met at a supermarket; she'd been shopping alone and he'd caught the ham that nearly fell on top of her head. They'd laughed. It was months later when he saw her again and they'd had a quick string of coffee dates before he'd realized she was going to get married.

"You should see the way Rory addressed the invitations," she laughed, holding her coffee with two hands as she hunched over from the cold. "His handwriting is worse than a child's, the stupid face."

John smiled. "Haven't forgotten about inviting me, yeah?"

Amy scoffed, her nose crinkling. "Of course not! Rory may not have invited you to the bachelor party, but you're still coming." Not invited, coming. John had to smile again.

"I'm gonna wear my bowtie-" he started, before Amy quickly interrupted. "I AM, and I'm gonna dance with everyone there," he laughed, and he raised up his arms and sorta wiggled them about.

"That's dancing?"

"Well, let's see you try!"

And Amy had danced beautifully, sighing as she held onto Rory loosely as they swayed. The party had ended long ago and the balloons had already started to collapse down into small heaps. They were tired, too. John sat at a table watching the married couple with his shoes off and his bowtie untied. He leaned back in his chair and watched them dance without music. At one point, it seemed like both of them had stopped until John realized that Amy had almost fallen asleep right where she stood and Rory took a minute to wake her up. Rory pressed too closely and stroked her hair, pressing a kiss to her temple. Amy's eyes fluttered open and she lifted her chin from his shoulder. They both began to dance again.

Stretching his legs, John sensed that it was time for him to go so he put on his shoes and nodded to the married couple, beaming. The dance had ended but theirs had not.

And with that he was off, walking briskly out of the ballroom, trying desperately to retie his bowtie. He had just managed a sloppy knot all twisted over itself when he walked out in the night and immediately felt the cool air pricking at the back of his neck and at his hands. The cold bit at him. The door shut behind him with a whispered click. Looking up, he saw so many stars. So many stars lost amidst the black. He found Pegasus and started running through the magnitudes and names of all its stars as he started to walk around the building and out to his car. His thoughts wandered to whether the sky really ought to be called black because it was more like a deep blue, a deep swirling bl-

He had cut across a corner and dodged a hedge to find himself staring at a lion with its face to the window.

"Oh! Oh, so sorry, didn't mean to interrupt you!" he said, the words slipping out of his mouth quickly.

"Didn't mean to interrupt my watching?" the lion laughed, turning to look at him.

Not a lion at all, but a lioness. A lioness with thick, honey-gold curly hair and John wondered if it was possible, really, to have that much hair. Her hair practically bounced when she turned her head.

"What are you doing?" he asked, curiously, moving to see what she was looking at through the window. "What are you doing here?" he asked again, realizing just what the lioness was doing.

"Look at them," she prompted, motioning through the glass. The lioness' window already had a nice round hole for her to look through, but John's didn't. Cautiously, trying to avoid standing too close to this stranger, he used his sleeve to wipe a spot so he could see. He cupped his hands around his face as he peered inside to find Amy and Rory still dancing, and spectacularly, too. He thought they'd seemed beautiful inside, but that was nothing. His breath fogged up the glass around the edges and Amy's feet disappeared into a swirling mass of color and reflection but oh, the way she was looking into Rory's eyes. That was something no fog could ever cover.

He tore his eyes away from the window for a moment to look at his partner in crime. She was bundled up in a great coat trimmed with fur, but the fur had ice in small chunks all along it. Snow clutched to bundles of fabric along her sleeves. How long had she been here?

"What are you doing here?"

"I wasn't invited," she said, merely confirming his suspicions. Her face was still turned away from him as she watched the dancing couple.

"Who are you?"

"River."

He waited for more. She gave none.

"River, who are you?" he tried again.

An easy laugh escaped her.

"Professor River Song," she said, tearing her eyes away from the Ponds. "Archaeologist. And just who might you be?"

"Dr. John Smith. Astronomy."

"Oh! A doctor! And astronomy! How exciting." She said it with such a smirk that John couldn't tell if she was being genuine or if she was having a bit of a laugh at him. Maybe both.

"How long have you been out here?"

"Not very. I just popped by for a little peek."

She shivered. John noticed.

"Well, did you want to say hello to them?"

"You didn't say goodbye," she pointed out.

She'd watched him, then. Well.

"Didn't want to spoil the party," he admitted. "Besides, what do I say to that? 'Goodbye, Ponds, enjoy your honeymoon where you're going to end up doing… things that I really don't want to know about because I'm your friend and really friends should not know these sorts of things and-"

"I think you could have stopped at 'honeymoon.'"

Then she looped her arm into John's and began to pull him away, walking with authority away from the window. His arms flailed a bit at first and he almost tripped but he relented after a few steps and let her take the lead.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Where were you going before?"

"I-I don't know."

"Sounds exciting. Will you take me with you?"


	3. on pegasus and aquarius: snakedance

Their adventure started in a grocery store. River was all bundled up in her coat and John walked behind her as she started to walk the halls of the store knowingly. She had easy confidence and bright green eyes and her hair really was like a mane.

"It just never stops, does it?" he asked at the thought.

"What, sweetie?"

"The hair." No comment on the endearment because, really, who says things like that. She may have been older than he was, but that did NOT give her permission to look down on him as if he were a child. Or a lover. Especially not that one. Or maybe especially not a child. Either way, she laughed and he forgot what he was thinking.

"What are we even getting?" he asked. She'd been the one to tell him to stop the car.

"Spoilers."

She turned a corner and disappeared and he went after her. When he turned the corner, she had abruptly stopped, and he became a mess of flailing limbs as they collided for a brief second. This close, he noticed that her ears were small, hidden underneath all the hair, and her nose had a bump in it. She smelled like snow. River only laughed gently and continued on her way to a table full of fruit and began to pluck some overripe peaches from the table.

"Peaches?" Curiosity made his slight embarrassment fade to nothing.

"Yes, sweetie?"

"What? Oh, no, NO-what do we need peaches for?"

"You'll see," she said.

After she paid, she handed him the bag and they walked back to the car. She unlocked the car and slipped into the driver's seat and he opened the passenger door-

"How did you get my keys!?"

"I know where we're going. You don't."

"How did you get my keys!?"

She smirked.

"You... when you bumped into me?"

"Are you going to get in the car?"

"You stole my keys!"

"I've seen how you drive; this is better. You left the emergency brake on for a whole block before you fixed it."

"I know that. I like the noise."

"Do you like broken brakes?"

"I like them just fine, thank-you-you STOLE my keys!"

She smiled and waited. Finally, he dropped the bag on the floor and slipped into the passenger seat. If the way he slammed the door shut and pulled on his seatbelt reminded her of a five-year-old, she didn't say anything. She turned the key in the ignition, pulled down the emergency brake, and then began to drive.

"One day, you'll forgive me."

They'd been driving for an hour.

"River! How much longer? It's been... one hour and seven minutes and… fifteen, sixteen, seventeen-"

"Here."

John sat up a little straighter and looked around. There was nothing. Well, they were on a road in the middle of nowhere and had been for half an hour. There were no houses and no buildings, just a field and a fence. It was almost midnight and they were in the middle of nowhere. So, yes; there was nothing.

And so John opened the door and ran outside, whooping with glee. He was still in his nicest suit but that didn't matter because the air was fresh and free and the stars were out and the grass was so green even in the dark. He immediately hopped over the fence and began to twirl on the grass. River got out, grabbing the bag of peaches, and crawled underneath one bar in the fence. She walked along the inside until she'd moved a decent distance from the car and began to set the four peaches on top of the fence one by one.

John was huffing and puffing slightly as he came over to River just as she finished setting up the peaches and watched them carefully. His breath rose up in smoke and steam and mist next to her. Her nose had gone red at the tip and her cheeks were flushed. He undid his bowtie and began to undo the top few buttons of his shirt so he could breathe easier.

"So, why the peaches?"

She looked down and lifted the bottom of her coat up her thigh. She was wearing a dress under the coat, but both dress and coat kept creeping up until they revealed...

"A gun!?"

"I'm just full of surprises. Have you ever shot a gun before?"

John wrinkled his nose in disapproval.

"I don't like guns."

She had unstrapped the handgun and held it with appalling ease and comfort.

"I thought you wanted an adventure," she said, shrugging her shoulders.

"This IS an adventure! Look at the stars!" he said, reaching out as if to grab them with both of his hands. Definitely dark blue. John lowered his arms. "Why does an archaeologist even need a gun?"

"Just a hobby," she admits, walking away so she stood a decent distance away from the peaches. John followed. She steadied her hand and aimed and shot. Methodical. Clockwork. The peach burst into a firework of pulp and fruit and the noise rang clearly through the night. John covered his ears and winced.

"So, do you want to shoot?"

"I know how to shoot."

"That's not what I asked. Do you want to shoot? It's why I bought the peaches." She had flipped the safety on again and her hand held it as an offering to him.

"Not for eating?" He looked at it disdainfully before he took it from her hand.

River watched carefully as he flipped the safety off and pointed the gun over at the peach. His aim was precise.

"Bang. Peach goes boom," he said before handing the gun back to her, three peaches still remaining on the fence. River looked at him thoughtfully before she put the gun back in its strap on her thigh.

"You know how to hold a gun, that I'll say. Who taught you?" After a moment of silence, he looked up and she looked up with him until they were watching the sky together, both of them mindful of the unanswered question.

"Know any constellations, Doctor Starboy?"

He ignored the jab. Instead, he proudly straightened up and began to search the sky for old friends. "Oh! Up there, almost straight up, y'see? It's a sort of box, but it's not right-side-up, it's twisted, see? And then from one end, the little, uh, hook? And then the two little legs from the top? That's Pegasus."

He looked over at her to find her staring at him, not at the sky.

"Pegasus?"

"Just... oh, here we go," he said, pulling her down as he sat on the ground. The ground was wet and muddy and he really ought to have expected that. River didn't complain, just pulled up her hood, and then laid down completely, her arm still looped in his. John leaned back next to her.

"Look, there? Do you see the box?" he said, pointing. "Sort of a special box. And then, there, the hook? And then the lines?"

"I see it."

"Oh! And there? That's Cycnus. Just follow the legs of Pegasus and y'see those three really bright stars? Those are the back. And there are the wings."

"I see. And do you see that really bright star? Right up there?" She leaned in closer, touching the side of her head to his, which really was quite impressive due to all that hair. She was pointing and he saw. "That's right in the center of Aquarius."

"You know constellations, too?"

"I only asked if you knew them. I never said I didn't."

John smiled brightly and turned to look at the sky.

"Then how come you didn't know Pegasus?"

"I know Pegasus just fine. Just thought that your explanation lacked a little something."

"Like what?"

"Clarity."

He hmphed and crossed his arms.

"Pegasus doesn't really look like a horse, does it?" she asked.

"No, not really," he admitted.

"What do you think it looks like?"

"... It looks more like... like a fez! Attached to a string!"

River laughed. John truly loved that sound, he realized. It came easily from her mouth, like she was always poised for it.

"I think..." she started, her arm sliding from his in order to grip his hand. Her thumb stroked his hand softly and John decided, yes, the sky was definitely deep blue. Deep dark blue. Deep deep dark blue. Speckled and spotted, the sky looked like it was swirling in big bold bands. The stars poked through the dark, ripping through the sky like it was felt. John always found it hard to breathe when he looked. Just so beautiful. "It looks like a kite."

"A great big kite flying in the sky?"

"Yeah."

River sat up and looked at John. She squeezed his hand gently before standing up, brushing some stray grass off of her coat. Some still clung to the fur and her back was wet and matted in some places. She grabbed John's hand and brought him back to the fence, on which she promptly sat. She picked up a peach, holding it in her hands for a moment, before taking a bite. John grabbed the other and, relishing that this peach was not spattered into bits along the road, took a bite as well. He leaned against the fence to watch the road.

"What color is the sky at night?"

"Blue, deep blue," she said without hesitation, her mouth half-filled with peach.

John looked at her. She smiled at him. He smiled back.

"Definitely one of the more interesting first dates I've been on."

"Oh, so it's a date, Ms. Song? I thought it was just two friends watching stars and shooting peaches together."

"It's definitely a date."

River smiled and moved herself closer to him on the fence. She took another bite of peach.

"I really thought you might like to try shooting a gun."

"I don't like guns. And we've just met; how could you possibly think that?"

"Because you cut the corners to go to your car. Because you left without saying goodbye. Because you carried the peaches in the parking lot. Because you spun around like a five-year-old when we came here."

She'd been watching him just as closely as he'd been watching her.

"Five-year-old?"

"Maybe."

The cold was starting to get to them as they watched the night grow around them. The winds started to rise and swirl, pushing at their hair. One stray tendril of River's hair had jumped up and started to fly and when John saw it, he smiled softly and reached over to push it back.

"I'm not a five-year-old."

"You are definitely younger than me."

"Not that much!"

"Twenty years? Give or take?"

"Well, it doesn't matter!"

"Not even a little?"

"Not at all! I mean, there are stars and galaxies and planets that are billions and billions of years old. Nebulas, where stars haven't even formed, just the very beginnings of what are going to be burning, hot furnaces that change the very night sky, they're billions and billions and billions of years old, too. What's twenty years? What's eighty years? And these planets, these stars and galaxies, they're just the most beautiful things. Age is just a construction of the imagination. Age is something that doesn't rip away the beauty of a star or a comet or a satellite. Why should it for a human?"

"Age is archaeology. Dust and dirt and all the stuff we scrub off so we can make it new. The job of an archaeologist is to take the old bits and recycle them into something identifiable and relatable. We find what is old and breathe new life into it because otherwise it is useless to us. The old would just be the old without remembering that it was once new."

"But humans are made of star stuff as well as dirt and dust. We're just the young bits, the recycled parts, that get used over to make souls. Souls out galaxies and hydrogen and heat. If lines in skin and gray hair are the side effects, then age is pretty damn amazing."

"Are you calling me pretty damn amazing?"

The flush ran up John's neck.

"I'm saying that it doesn't matter. You could be as old as a planet and it wouldn't matter."

"Did you just call me as old as a planet?"

"Never! I—"

River leaned down and kissed him. She tasted like peach and peace and Thursday afternoons and tea. Her mouth was soft and warm and cold all at once. John's eyes fluttered shut and he dropped the peach he was holding, his hands flailing spectacularly. One cold hand went to her waist while the other buried itself in airy, light hair. The stars watched, winking madly. When she pulled away, everything felt so much colder.

"5:02! S'getting late," he said, his voice hoarse. "Shall I take you home?"

River grinned crookedly before sliding off of the fence, dropping her own peach and attempting to wipe some stickiness off of her hands before she took his.

"But where's the fun in that?"

It was nine in the morning before he'd stumbled back into his own apartment. Grinning like a mad man, John tore off his shoes and jacket and shirt and socks before crawling into the messy bed. Star charts littered the floor and he promised to pick them up as he shut his eyes and welcomed the black.

Only, not black.

John woke to silence but his heart raced. He stared unfocused as he sat up with the realization that he hadn't dreamt of black for the first time in seven years.

Not black.

A deep, deep blue.


	4. good night, bad night, and up all night

She'd called him first, after. He'd been in the lab and had only just started filling out his charts when his phone rang. He elected not to answer. When the mobile rang a second time, however, he figured it was an emergency. He grabbed the phone and held it against his ear with his shoulder, his hands busy writing and plotting.

"Doctor John Smith."

"Hello, sweetie."

River. John switched the phone to the other ear as he smiled.

"To what do I owe the occasion?"

"I'm teaching a class of infants who don't know Assyrians from Akkadians and I grew bored of them. Handed them a test and told them to quit bothering me."

"You sound like an old professor a friend of mine had. Hey, did you teach a guy named Craig Owens like, oh I don't know, seven years-."

"Shut up."

"Did you call to complain about your students or is there more to this conversation?"

"Pick me up at eight."

"What if I had plans?"

"Cancel them."

"... I'll see you at eight."

And when she'd come bounding down the stairs in a green and yellow dress clinging to her body just so and her hair was piled up and only a few stray tendrils draped down to frame her face and her earrings were dangly and shiny and her smile was flirty and happy and sexy and sweet all at once, John would have let her do anything. Instead, he just let out the breath he didn't realize he was holding and offered her his arm. She took it gladly.

"I'm going to pick this time," he announced, as he walked her over to the passenger seat and opened the door kindly.

River smiled and let him be the gentleman.

"And did you know, oh but this is the best part, that would be like 160,000,000,000 megatons of TNT or about 25,000 times the energy of-of-of... Shoemaker Levy-9 crashing into Jupiter?"

"And Shoemaker Levy-9 is...?"

"A comet. It collided with Jupiter in '94 and it PROVES Jupiter is sort of like... like a mushroom. Only not a mushroom at all."

"This look like a comet?"

They stood in a junk yard, wandering amidst piles of... well, stuff. Crushed car parts mingled with bits of old 50's police call boxes and River was wearing her oh so very nice dress in the middle of a junkyard. John didn't think she could look any more beautiful than she had all flushed and bundled in her fur coat but now... John picked up the piece of metal in question and began to fiddle with it, holding it up to inspect from every angle.

They'd snuck in but John swore up and down that he knew the owner and how the owner promised everything was all right, but it was still very dark. The air was also very cold and John had unceremoniously dropped his coat over her shoulders. River tugged at the jacket with one hand as she waited for John's formal decision.

"Yes! Sort of like a comet indeed!"

John moved to her side and pushed a few things apart, setting the comet down. He picked up a few bits and pieces, holding them up to his face before he shook his head and threw them over his shoulder onto the ground. River joined him, taking some wires and starting to strip them.

And so he and River set to work, neither quite knowing when they both had decided to create instead of merely inspect. Their creation was really just an assemblage of wire and metal they bent and twisted until it began to look like… something. Neither of them knew what they were making, but the object started to take shape as their hands drifted over each others, spotted with grease and dust. Black and grey and pink. After half an hour of silence, John and River both stepped back to look at their creation.

In the end, the metal object looked like something from outer space. Resembling sort of like a fancy pen, it was covered in metal bars and zig zags and at the end was a tiny light bulb. The stripped wire down the side made it look like it might glow. Only both of them knew that it would never light.

River picked it up and inspected it in its finality and John leaned over her shoulder to watch.

"It looks like a screwdriver," he said, finally.

"A screwdriver?"

"Yeah. Not a normal one, no, but one that could use light to open doors. Or sound. Sonic waves. The light would just be on to let you know it worked."

"Maybe," she mused. She smiled and tossed the so-dubbed sonic screwdriver into the air. Before she could catch it, he did. She watched as he slipped the sonic into his pocket smugly. River arched a brow and John stepped around her and touched a finger to her nose before spinning off to find something else to do in the junk yard.

Suddenly, the junkyard flooded with lights and John heard someone shout, "Who's out there? I gotta gun! If it's that daft man who thinks he can just come here when'er he likes…"

John jumped. River was shaking her head and taking off her heels as quickly as she could in her dress. While she was tugging the last one off, John grabbed her hand, pulling her towards the entrance quickly.

"Run!"

And they ran. And they ran. And they ran.

And after they managed to escape the junkyard, they breathlessly clambered into the car and as John began to drive away as fast as he could, he heard River mumble, "You said this was fine. You said you knew the owner. You said-"

"I lied."

"... I hate you."

"No you don't."

"... No, you're right. I don't."

John woke up at one in the morning on a Sunday and star charts lay across the bedroom. John's clothes piled up in messy heaps on Phoenix and Pisces. The sheets were tangled into a ball on the floor on Andromeda and John was shaking next to an unfinished Eridanus.

His eyes were screwed shut, forcing himself to see black. One hand clutched desperately onto his pillow, the other pulled his hair. Relishing in the pain, John watched the black swirl across the inside of his eyelids. He needed the black. Stop stop stop stop STOP.

When he finally opened his eyes after what felt like hours, John still shook as he tried to sit up. His arm was asleep and his legs ached as he scrambled up to lean against the headboard in a sudden flury of moment. He stared at his feet until the sight of flesh painted red flashed like lightning.

John ran to the bathroom and retched. Kneeling on the bathroom floor in nothing, grasping the toilet and trying not to retch again, John tried to even out his breathing.

This is why he'd had the black.

In his dreams, a thousand soldiers screamed and rolled in the sun as they fell away to nothingness and dust. The sky itself seemed to glow orange in the waves upon waves of blood and bone marrow and intestines that reached out to choke their victims. The air boiled and burned as he walked through it, stepping on mangled bits of human. Human.

John retched again.

The memories came back and bit. Bit and stung like bees, like there was a wasp in the room, like there were million wasps. Stingers that jabbed and brought back images of human hair clumping in blood and pools of red on bright yellow grass and the lonely sound of drums.

Oh, the drums, that beat out victory. Victory of no one winning, victory of bloodshed, victory of temptation, victory of evil. There was no war where anybody won. Only Death won. Death with a capital D, Lord over Time and Space and John's nightmares. Death won its victory by stealing the tops of people's heads and ringing out their brains. Death won by ripping holes in stomachs and letting innards slip out and kiss the grass. Death was the only butcher to make a profit. The sounds of drums pulsed in John's head. The sound of drums pulsed in John's heart.

John sat back, thinking that his stomach simply didn't have anything more to empty. He closed his eyes again and focused hard on the black. The images still kept coming, thunderstorms of red and pink and grey.

He stood up shakily and managed to walk back to his room. Sitting on his bed, he felt the mattress and sheet underneath him and finally decided on a course of action.

"River?"

"It's almost two in the morning, sweetie. What do you want?"

"… Well, actually, I was just thinking that time works differently and what if we eliminated time zones and so each person could literally go down the road and suddenly find themselves remaining in the exact same time. Wouldn't that be interesting, River?"

"Yes, sweetie, it would. It would also be terribly impractical."

"Impractical but still amusing! And what if time itself didn't actually progress in a straight line but more like... like..."

"Not straight?"

"All wobbly and wibbly. What if?"

"Then what's to stop everything from happening all at once?"

"Nothing! And isn't that just beautiful! You and me could meet at the same time as we had our first date and our second date and we could turn eight all at the same time! Go to the zoo and dance among the stars with you!"

"That the dream?"

"Dream? … Oh! Yes! That'd be it! You and me, River."

"Time and space."

"Oh we'd be great."

"So, I say, John, this is truly the most interesting call I've received at one in the morning but I really ought to be sleeping; I have work early tomorrow."

"You weren't asleep before."

"How could you possibly know that?"

"I didn't. I guessed. And I turned out to be right, as I often am, thank you!"

"Good guess, Doctor Starboy."

A beat.

"Do you want to come over?"

"So it's one of those calls? Oh, John, you had a girl so enraptured I almost believed in fairy tale princes-"

"No, no! Not like that! Just... just to say hello."

"I'll be over soon, sweetie. Just to say hello."

John smiled into the phone before hanging up. He got to tidying up his apartment, realized it couldn't possibly be as clean as he'd like it to be, so he just sat and waited on the kitchen counter. That turned out to be too uncomfortable and his mind started to deviate from thoughts of River entering his apartment.

Then he heard a gentle knock on the door and all was well.

It was four in the morning on a Sunday and star charts lay across the bedroom. Amidst Cassiopeia and Andromeda and Perseus were River's clothes and John's clothes piled up in messy heaps and Phoenix and Pisces pointed to John and River asleep in tangled sheets. Her head was against his chest and she was curled up next to him like a content cat.

John closed his eyes again and leaned back against the pillow, his hand stroking her shoulder softly. His mouth was fastened in a wide grin.

His smile stayed plastered to his face a few moments later when River woke. She turned and glanced at the glowing alarm clock before groaning and turning back into John's embrace.

"Four? What are you doing up?"

"I don't need a whole lot of sleep."

"I'll say. We didn't do a whole lot of sleeping until three."

The smile was still there as he fidgeted a little, the flush creeping up his neck.

"Well, that wasn't MY fault!"

"I didn't hear you complain."

And John moved so that he could face her, slipping down and sliding his arm underneath the pillow they were sharing. He leaned forward and kissed her. She tasted like rainwater and sex and the metal of old typewriters and he slid his arm around to grip her hip tightly. Her arm came to rest on his chest, fingers drumming a slow, gentle beat over his heart. When they broke apart, River's smile made John want to kiss her all over again.

"What was that for, sweetie?"

"I dreamt of you."


	5. eridanus: the war games

Eridanus wound its way across the purple sky and River's knee was jumping up and down and she'd neglected to wear her fur-trimmed coat, the one that smelled like snow and grass and bread. John had offered the coat to her with the most gentlemanly bow he could muster but River had just laughed, kissed him on the cheek, and stepped out into the bitter cold without her jacket. She said she didn't need it because they'd barely be outside.

She started shivering three minutes into the car ride. One hand slipped under her thigh while the other held tightly to John's as he stroked the goosebumps away with his thumb. They didn't mention it, so John just drove and hummed. River joined him for a few bars and then her voice would fade.

John pulled the car along the driveway, letting it bumble up and over the curb. They'd had a minor spat about the emergency brake but she let him deploy it far too early and they'd rumbled and bumped their way in front of the Ponds' house. The car whined but John stroked her dashboard and that seemed to soothe her. River's mouth twitched into a half-smile at the way John cooed over his precious vehicle. John treated her like she was alive, like she was some hugely expensive space ship and not a Ka.

"You really shouldn't use cruise control on when we're going through a neighborhood."

"But it's more fun that way," he said, grinning as he cut the engine.

They both sat for a moment, each relishing the silence. River was the first to make a move to get out of the car, but John caught her wrist. She paused and carefully looked down at his hand and then up at him. He motioned to the house limply and when she looked back in puzzlement, John let her go after a few seconds, leaving a faint white mark on her wrist bone.

River turned to him and flashed her biggest smile before she stepped out of the car. Before she shut the door, she leaned back inside to shake her head slightly at him, the smile still on her face.

"I'll be fine, John. I'm a big girl."

John grinned sheepishly. Their hands joined together again as they walked up the slight slope to the front door where John rang the doorbell. Half a heartbeat was all the time it took for their hands to separate once the bell rang because Amy Pond in all her glory burst through the door and pulled John into a giant, tender hug.

"Amelia Pond!" John exclaimed, hugging her and rubbing her back slightly. When Amy pulled back, her entire face was set in a grin. "Amy, this is River," he added with warmth as he turned to River for a second and flashed her a smile. River had been standing straight with every intention of making a good impression. She didn't look at him, only smiled at Amy and offered a hand to shake. Amy took it. For a split second, John thought it absurd for River Song to need an introduction to Amy Pond; he could feel it in the air. They belonged to each other. Then, the feeling disappeared just as soon as it had come, but something else lingered. Amy's name in his mouth tasted like oranges: pulpy and sweet and tangy. Just then, John had realized that River's name had a similar flavor. River's name was all rolling r's that glided off his tongue; orange groves and cinnamon. Maybe that was all the feeling was. Similarity.

Amy ushered them happily into the house, making a point to remind John to take off his shoes.

"I do NOT need reminding, Pond," he grumbled, taking off a shoe with some difficulty. "You've redecorated."

"Oh, yeah! Rory said that he wanted to—"

"I don't like it."

River had to stifle a smirk. And then Rory walked in just as John took off his coat, carrying car keys and two index cards. Realizing that he'd missed the doorbell, he sort of jumped back for a second before shoving the keys into his pocket and offering River a handshake.

"Hello," he said as she took his hand and shook. "I'm Rory."

"Rory was just about to go out and pick up some things. We've run dangerously low on food."

"Well, we can't have that, can we?" John laughed.

"Not with you around. You never seem to eat what we've made and we always end up having weird foods with you around."

"Experimenting! We're experimenting!"

"Right, John. Experimenting," Amy said, putting the last word in air quotes. John huffed and held River's hand shyly as they were led into the kitchen. Rory paused, looked at the front door, looked into the kitchen, back at the front door, and then walked back into the kitchen. He hung around the doorframe as Amy began to pull open drawers and cabinet doors. Rory handed her the list and a pencil before she asked.

"So, obviously, River, you're the big news around here and John hasn't told us anything. How'd you two meet?" Amy asked, writing down a few words on the grocery list.

John and River exchanged a look. John had forgotten that they'd ask. River hadn't. John cleared his throat and tore his eyes away, focusing instead on the questioning Amy with her eyebrow raised. John's mind raced uncomfortably: how do they explain the circumstances without making River sound much worse than she was? He'd focused so exclusively on the River right in front of him at any given moment he had never analyzed the situation of how they met. But, basically, John supposed it all came down to-

"I attended your wedding," River finally admitted. The confession hung in the air awkwardly before it fell to the ground in pieces but, River Song, the superhero, saved herself; she chuckled to herself as she tried to explain.

"I wasn't invited, so don't worry about not remembering me. I'd been out walking and I frequently walk by the building where the reception was and I heard music so I decided to sit and watch from outside. No one noticed me and I watched as the number of guests dwindled and the lights dimmed. John sat and watched you for forever. Just as I was about to continue my walk, I realized that he'd left. I was almost going to go find him until I realized he found me first. We watched you dance."

Amy stopped. Rory answered.

"So… you spied on us, found John, and then got him to spy on us, too?"

John's ears went pink as River laughed.

"When you put it like that…"

Rory just nodded, stunned.

When Amy finally approved the finalized grocery list, River offered to go with Rory. Rory took her up on the offer and River squeezed John's hand firmly before she disappeared with Mr. Pond.

The silence between Amy and John lasted a mere moment before Amy hugged John again. John jumped back, slightly startled, before he hugged her again. He'd missed his old companion.

"I missed you," she said, separating.

John smiled back. "I was right here."

"I know you were here but you weren't here. River's doing you good, John."

John leaned against the counter and shrugged a shoulder. A smile played on his lips.

"I think so, too."

"So, John. Tell me about her."

Rory and River returned from the store with bags of groceries hanging from the arms. John offered River help with them but she shook her head and hefted the heavy bags onto the counter. Amy watched as Rory half-struggled with an overfull bag and then kissed him on the cheek. The four of them bumbled around the kitchen, putting jars of sauce away and leaving out garlic bulbs and chicken.

Within twenty minutes, Amy started to chase John and Rory around the kitchen with a ladle, berating them for stealing tastes. River leaned across the counter and offered John a different thing to taste. John grinned shyly and kissed her quickly. Amy made a face, to which River arched an eyebrow.

"Something the matter?"

"I don't know. I feel like-like you're my daughter and I'm trying to protect you from this daft old man."

"Daft!?"

"Old?"

"Daughter?"

Amy waved the ladle exaggeratedly before she just huffed and let it be, turning back to the food that may or may not have been burning at that point. The other three just laughed and helped Amy pick out the food that still looked edible before serving it.

The four of them ate in contented silence for a few moments before Amy announced with a clack of her fork that they ought to play a game. Rory muttered something about not having had enough alcohol for that, but Amy elbowed him in the ribs and repeated herself. River shrugged her shoulders just as John looked intrigued, nodding along.

"Have you ever heard of two truths and a lie?"

"Is that where you tell someone two truths and a lie and the other people have to guess which one is the lie?" River asked.

"Exactly!"

"Sure, we'll play."

"Then, Rory you go first."

"Me? Why do I have to?"

"I said so."

"That doesn't mean I have to, Amy."

"Fine then _I'll_ go first. Alright… Um, my favorite artist is Vincent van Gogh, my middle name is Jessica, and I—"

"The third one."

"John, you're supposed to let her finish first."

"But I knew it!"

"Okay, fine, John, _you_ go!"

"I had a nickname consisting only of Carthaginian letters in school, I originally wanted to be a experimental physicist but I got bored, and when I was little all I wanted was a sports car."

"The second one's the lie."

"Yeah, the second one."

"Well, Ponds, nice try! River?"

"The first one."

"Oh, sorry. All wrong."

"Well, River, I guess it's your turn."

"My favorite color is yellow, I've always wanted to be a professor, I know more Greek mythology than Egyptian."

"The last one, the last one!"

"No, John, sorry."

"Is it the first one?"

"Yeah, Rory. It is. My favorite color is blue."

And so the game continued on and on, loop for loop. Rory was able to slip a few past Amy, but River was surprisingly good at sniffing out which was his lie. Amy couldn't play under the competitive streaks of Rory and John, each one battling to see how many words it would take for them to figure out when Amy lied. In the end she just stopped playing, and it became a game for all of them to see who would get River's or John's.

"After knowing you for so long, you'd think it wouldn't be this hard!" Amy exclaimed, still stuck between John's claim about living in a house perched halfway up a mountain and having actually put his hand inside a life lion's mouth.

"Give up, Pond?"

"Never! … Would it be about the mountain?"

"Nope. You lose."

"Fine! River? An easy one?"

"Well… alright. How about, when I was little I lived by a park where daffodils grew, I once failed an entire class because they bothered me, and I used to do a lot of odd jobs for a church."

"… I said an easy one, River."

After what felt like hours of playing, Amy finally announced that she'd had enough and John and River made all the motions of announcing they needed to go. John and Amy exchanged one more hug before River and John departed, waving at the couple in the doorframe.

Sliding into the car after Amy and Rory finally disappeared, River's cheeks were flushed with drink and cold and John beamed. Then they both erupted into giggles.

"You really outdid yourself, Doctor Starboy."

"Oh but River you were truly excellent. How many truths did you tell in all? One?"

"I thought you hadn't noticed, sweetie. But yes, I matched your one. Couldn't let you have all the fun."

John started the car and tweaked River's nose.

"Naughty girl. You'll be the death of me."

River smiled and shook her head as she slipped her hand in his.

"Me first."


	6. the towers sang: day of the moon

Blue black bands of starstuff blended across the sky and the whirling devils of snow and ice began to parade through the air and the sounds of high pitched flutes faded into oboes and duck ponds littered the street like popsicle sticks in the summer and the air smelled sweet like pomegranates and jammy wines and the air curled in on itself like smoke or a cat.

Two bar notes flooded the air.

John sat in the grass and the grass was greener than green. He felt it in his hands and he could feel the weight of it underneath. From the grass in front of him were two giant towers, each spiraling up into the sky. Day light and night bright and the towers shown and the limestone glistened as water trickled down the sides.

River lay beside him, her hair fanned out in a halo to his right. He looked over at her and smiled, leaning down to kiss her.

And then the towers began to sing.

The song creaked out of the rock and hovered in the air. The song was tainted by the smell of paint and the drying sound of bubbling wax and the steady beat of heartbeats. Leather on grass on tweed and tartan all ran together in tannin lines that streaked across the sky. Notes squirmed out of hiding spots from throats and the wrenching sound was porcelain on steal from immortal time itself. It was the sound of keys dragged across piano wire slowed down and reverberated. It was the sound of a water organ and a waterphone as they tugged together in a jazz-filled embrace.

River sat and up and moved closer beside him. John looped an arm around her shoulders and began to point out new planets whose names dropped out of his mouth fully formed, like half-forgotten memories.

"That's... Metraxis. Alfava Metraxis. And that one is Phaestar Osiris and the one just next to it is a star, Torajii."

"Osiris? Egyptian god of the dead."

"Yep!"

"And what does Doctor Starboy know about Osiris?"

"Well, he was cut up by Seth, right?" he started to stroke her arm and he placed little kisses on her head with every other sentence. "And Seth took all the pieces of Osiris' body and set them adrift all over the world. Osiris' wife Isis collected all the pieces and allowed him to be reborn."

"That's one version," River admitted. "The first half went that Seth tricked his brother into climbing into a box, which Seth then sealed with lead and threw into the Nile. Isis had to find the box first. In the original myth, he's just dead. Later mythology adds Isis' revival of him, the birth of their son Horus, and Seth's finding of Osiris. He rips him into fourteen pieces and Isis found him again. She didn't bring him back herself, but the gods were so pleased by her devotion they brought him back to life."

As she'd talked, River leaned over and kissed him every so often, just as he had. She moved so that she was straddling his thighs and John ran one hand along her back to settle at her hip while she looped both her arms around his neck.

"And what gods were these that deemed Isis so worthy?" he asked, pressing his forehead to hers.

"The stars."

So they kissed to the sound of the singing towers in the grass. It was neither night nor day and it was a dream of star stuff and planets.

And when John woke up in the middle of the night, feeling River's body warm beside him, he lay there for awhile in silence before he lifted his hand to his mouth to feel the smile that appeared on his face.

Then the dream shattered.

When John walked into the room for a visit, he was nervous. Well, really, nervous didn't quite cover the feeling he might die. His knees kept buckling underneath him and everything he touched felt like plastic and danger. His badge seemed wrong and so he kept tugging at it and it kept popping off and he felt like an impostor. The walls were all grey brick and concrete and the bars and the metal and everything bit and stung like everything was all just too clean and too dirty to ever be clean again. Hygienic said the guard. The word sterile came to mind, its soft sounds lapping at the very corners of John's brain.

White and black and greys. There was no color. The blue that clung to all the shapeless prisoners wasn't blue at all, not a color, but a shade of grey gone all sorts of wrong. Blue was fuzzy and wrong and it seemed to blur around the edges. Blue was just a haze. Blue wasn't cloth and when he looked at all the other prisoners too closely, his head began to swim.

And then he saw River. She wore that blue... thing and her hair was up and John felt his mouth go dry. River was so achingly beautiful in the sea of ugliness. He sat down nervously and grabbed at her hands, eager to feel safe for a heartbeat. They were warm in the room when nothing else was. He reached for her to feel grounded, to feel his feet again, to feel like he wouldn't fly away if he said something wrong. He needed to feel like he would be okay. Yet, the second he felt her hands in his, the guard immediately told Dr. Song to stop touching. He let go of her hands quickly, folding them in his lap skittishly. A balloon in his chest started to swell, pushing on the inside of his heart and ripping it like it was paper.

"Hello, sweetie."

"River... how did you even get here? I mean, I read about your conviction in the paper, but you didn't call me, you just... got here. You just confessed and you didn't have a NAME and-and-and they haven't even found the body and so River... why would you do something like this!? Why?"

River just smiled weakly. She looked older and her lips were cracked. It had been a mere week since they'd seen each other, since River had been tangled in his sheets. Could a week change someone so much?

Or reveal them?

River's knee bumped up against John's and John stood up at that point, pointing a finger at her. He was angry and his face contorted into confusion and rage, his upper lip curling into a sneer and his forehead wrinkling.

"You! You... River, why!? You made me trust you, you made me-me-lo-you made me-" He started to sputter. His shoulders dropped and he circled the chair twice, quickly, before sitting back down again, his head in his hands. When he spoke again minutes later, it was a soft whisper. "I wanted to show you Gemini."

River looked down at the table and shut her eyes. John looked up at her, his hands still over his face. "I know, John."

And then John stood up again, his hands slamming the table. He wanted to leave scars on the metal, to let it know how much it hurt to look at it, to look at the table and to see the fuzzy outline of River's reflection. River's form swam. River shouldn't be here, he shouldn't be here. This was absurd, she hadn't done anything. Not at all. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

He looked down for a moment before he looked at River.

"I'm going to get you out."

It was a whispered promise and John's voice shook but River only smiled again, much fainter than before.

"I know you will."


	7. a revisitation of deep blue

A/N: This chapter was co-written with timelucked FFN. Without her, there would be no chapter. So go thank her.

Their faces were streaked with grease and gunpowder, and the distant sound of sirens rang in their ears but no footsteps. Thank god for no footsteps. They just heard the sound of cars zooming away, each hot on the trails of someone that was not them. Their hands and bodies shook like leaves in a hurricane as they huddled together against the bathroom door, each breathing so hard and heavy that John was afraid the police would find them from their breathing alone. Amy and Rory hadn't asked questions, just let John and River burst into their house during the course of their dinner. Amy shoved John into the bathroom, countering every protest John threw at her with "there aren't any windows! Go!"

And so they were trembling. River was still wearing her monstrous blue thing and they were both covered in dirt and sweat - and oh god. His fingers shook, he couldn't control them, couldn't seem to control much of anything. He focused on the pair of brilliant bright eyes in front of him, so wide and trusting and – oh god, what had they done.

John began to run his hands over her hands, her fingers, her shoulders, anything to feel that her bones were all in place. He ran his hands under her shirt and she ran hers under his until John had had enough of that blue thing and he ripped it off of her, letting it glide like the loudest whisper onto the floor away from her body, away from him.

John kissed along her neck and pulled at her wrists until she was straddling his lap. He could feel her pulse quicken underneath his thumb until one hand began to count her vertebrae while the other tangled itself in her hair, desperate for touch. Their hearts were racing together and John couldn't tell which heart was winning.

River reached behind her to unhook her bra, her breath catching as she rose above him, tossing it to the side as she pressed her chest against his, and John let out a strangled groan. The hand that had been at her back came back to run a stray thumb over her nipple. He flicked the bud and reveled in her sweet moan, her mouth descended upon his furiously. The urgency of their movements, of their situation – of heightened tensions and the crackling electricity in the air between them – tightened his pants. He felt too constricted: by time, by the law, by River, by his trousers, by fate, by River. Now wasn't the time. They couldn't-not here, not in Amy and Rory's washroom. Not after that. Not now.

"We should-we should stop," John gasped as River bit at his shoulder, licking the mark smooth and repeating.

"Why?" she murmured, lifting her head just so to place soft kisses to the crook of his neck. Her tongue glided across his skin and left a smooth silken trail that dipped down his collarbone and traced the skin.

John found it hard to focus, his vision blurred until all he saw was her hair as golden as a halo against the harsh light of the bathroom bulbs.

"Because we're in Amy and Rory's washroom trying not to get caught by the police and what if they show up and we're all... y'know?"

River chuckled. It was pained.

"Better than doing nothing."

"We could form an escape plan, River!"

"I thought you'd already done that."

"I got you out! I didn't plan what happens next!"

"No plan?"

"Well, I'm not finished talking yet. We could run out of the country, get you somewhere else entirely, we could-"

And then River covered his mouth with hers. The kiss was rough and pleading and her lips were chapped. John bit at her lower lip, sucking roughly, pulling the skin just right enough to draw her back for more. Their tongues intertwined, and River licked the roof of John's mouth desperately. She was the breath his life so desperately needed. He wasn't staking his claim yet, half-cautious. She repositioned herself, sliding her body up and down his to cause a delicious friction between them. The static of their passion was palpable: a heady mix that ran off the tracks and lost control. Waters were tested; time to jump in, and time be damned.

"River," John gasped, separating their mouths and pressing his forehead to hers.

One hand was at her breast, curving around the soft mound to cup it gently. The other hand gripped her hip tightly, possessively. He used his hold to thrust into her, the friction of their clothes creating a spark set to ignite at any moment. He ground against her, her hips bucking reflexively and her thighs tightening around him. John screwed his eyes shut and tried to make everything better, for just a second.

For a moment, he could almost feel the cool sheets against their bodies, their tangled feet reaching for each other, but twined with the cast comforter. He could hear her moans as he rose and fell above her in a rhythm she matched perfectly. Just for a moment, he felt he was at home. When his eyes opened, they were still in the Ponds' bathroom and River was still dirty and they were still in danger – and oh god, the shaking was back. The thrill of the moment subsided under the crashing wave of reality.

River. This woman just admitted to killing someone. She admitted it all. John felt suffocated. He swallowed hollowly.

"I... Tell me, River," he said, the grip on her hip tightening, his fingers digging in enough to cause bruising.

"... I'm sorry, John. Spoilers."

Snap. John's mind broke into two. So for one moment, he couldn't even bring himself to care. He couldn't care that she didn't tell him, couldn't care that she was anything but his, his River. She was there, she was safe – that god awful blue thing was stripped off her – and they were safe. John crashed his mouth against River's again, his own body rising like a wave reaching its peak, his grip tightening again until it left a mark, an imprint of himself on her. He wanted to leave his fingerprints on her skin, to leave those red marks that would fade until they become the bluest blue she'd ever see. John pinched River's nipple, rolling it between his fingers, and she bit down on his tongue in retaliation. This was a game, a war, a battle between lovers, between warriors–and John and River were veterans.

His hands moved to her ribs, counting them silently before he pulled her as close to him as possible. River bit at his neck, hard, breaking through the skin on his shoulder (a little), and John winced (a little), his head thumping against the door as she laved the wound with her tongue thoroughly. He grunted in ecstasy as her hips rolled into his, his head lolling back as she worked. River shushed him and pulled back, face stern. John mouthed an apology before sliding her off of him and onto the bathroom floor as River's expression changed from stern to slightly uncomfortable

It was slow, delicate, a dance flipped horizontal. He lowered her until her back was parallel to the floor and he was level with her. His muscles, firm and unyielding, bunched in strain as he descended lower and lower until he matched every line of her body with his.

When her back hit the ice-cold tile, she bit her lip, goosebumps beginning to ripple along her arms. John tried to kiss her back to warmth, placing open mouthed, wet kisses along every raised mark. The goosebumps reminded him of stars. But stars were warm, not cold. John leaned over her and kissed along her collarbone, nipping every so often and soothing the bites with his tongue as she had with him. When he reached her shoulder again, his lips ghosting over his target a hairsbreadth away, he bit down hard. River yelped and clutched at his hair as John continued to bite and suck at the spot. He felt like a teenager learning how to give a hickey, but he was going to be damn sure there'd be a mark that'd last River the week, the month-forever. And he'd be there to watch it fade. River was his canvas, his masterpiece, and he intended to show her just how magnificent she was; how alive and wonderful a creation she was.

The thought crossed his mind and he let his mouth wander over other spots of River: down her shoulder to the top of her arm, back to her collarbone, to the side of one perfect breast. Her chest rose rapidly and fell just as quick. It was mesmerizing – absolutely hypnotizing – to watch. Her muscles ached and he yearned to soothe them. His lips began their descent towards a perfectly pert nipple. At his warm breathe, River arched up, needing his touch where she craved most.

They both halted simultaneously when the sounds of zooming police sirens grounded them. John looked up at River and, when he saw her eyes as wide as saucers, John growled and moved up to kiss her. The kiss was all teeth and tongue and movement. Like he wanted to swallow her whole, like he wanted to bite away the fear, like this was the end.

John kept one hand flat on the bathroom tile to keep himself up as he started to try and undo the buttons of his shirt. River helped, her fingers sliding underneath the fabric until finally, finally, he was free of that shirt. A toothy grin spread across his face, poised above her. John leaned down to kiss her, feeling like if he didn't then and there she might disappear.

Oh, but she might.

The thought sent him tumbling. He couldn't let her leave, he couldn't allow her to disappear, he couldn't stand one more minute away from her. He needed her, all of her, he needed to feel her around him, feel her constricting tightness. Feel himself glide within her, feel her, touch her. The only way to keep her grounded, to be permanent and here and real-John moved to unbutton his trousers. He slid the zipper down and couldn't think, all he needed was motion and River's hands began to tug her own knickers down. They were rushed, their breathing becoming shallower – lightheaded - as John tugged his erection free of his underwear. His pants were still on, dangled at the knee, and River had barely moved her knickers out of the way before John lifted her hips just so and pressed himself inside her, groaning. His head was thrown back, the pressure against him nearly sending him off there.

River let out a gasp, her hands groping for something to hold onto – anything at all. She panted, her body struggling against the floor. The feeling of River, so hot and slick, felt so good, so good too good. John watched as she bit down her scream as he shifted in just the right way, angled himself in an upward thrust that encouraged the sweetest moan he'd ever heard. He moved so solidly within her, he was losing control; so wild, so manic. John grunted harshly, words falling off as incoherent syllables, and slid his hand into hers against the cold tile, their fingers intertwining, as he began to move even harder within her. His thrusts became jabs as his pace changed, the tempo dropped and sped up in their race against the clock.

"River..." he gasped, his breath sharp and hot against her neck, sweat trickled down the side of his face, his pants of exertion a melody in her ear. He bit down, and none too gently, smothering his shout into the flesh of her shoulder. River grabbed his hair with her other hand and wrenched his face back so that she could kiss him. Her tongue lashed out at his and he fought back just as mightily.

John's thrusts became more and more sporadic as his mind wandered to the skin on her neck and how her lips were just so swollen from biting and how beautiful she was, so perfect and pliable beneath him. She kept pace with him, matched him stride for stride, rocking her hips as he did. His palm slapped onto the tile by her head, allowing him to thrust in that angle she liked. Her body shivered, her eyes fluttering as her pace picked up stronger. He worked to catch up with her, his partner in crime, his partner, his crime. He began whispering along her skin, nipping more and more at the line her mouth, jaw, and chin with each passing thought.

"Oh, River. You're just so beautiful and I can't... I can't help but... oh gods, River... just so gorgeous. You're all smooth skin and sweet and sour and I never want to stop tasting you or feeling you all around me. Tighter and tighter, you're going to fly away and I want to watch, River, oh please let me watch as you come undone underneath me. Please," he pleaded, his eyes fluttering open (when had they closed?) to meet River's.

River's eyes were wild fire and passion and when she squeezed his hand, John almost choked, his thrusts almost frantic. She always bled him dry and he always wanted more, he could never have enough, ever. Every day, every minute, he'd spend like this, just like this, with her beneath him, around him.

"River, please please... come for me, please... I need you to-oh god, I need you. I love you."

And then River shattered, her whole being coming to life. John felt her muscles tighten and clench and John came tumbling after, his whole body growing taut. They covered their twin cries with the crush of their mouths. His vision collapsed so all he could see was River: River, River, River.

Breathing heavily, he placed a small, shaky kiss to River's temple before he moved off of her. River was quiet, her eyes closed, before she curled up next to John on the floor. She placed her head on his chest and John started to stroke her hair absent mindedly, feeling River trace patterns onto his stomach.

John's eyes fluttered open a few minutes later when he realized that they weren't just patterns.

"... So you won't even say it?"

"I just did."

"Again?"

River smiled. "I love you, too," she said, spelling it once more on his chest before pulling him into a kiss. And for a small moment, just a very small moment, all fear had disappeared, leaving just love.


	8. storms on neptune: the seeds of death

John had died eight times.

Lying on the floor, stomach pressed against the cold tile, John had his eyes screwed shut and his hand clenched into a fist against the ground as he forced his toes to go numb, then his feet, then his calves. Every cell died and exploded as he coerced each nerve into a hushed quiet. The numb crept up his body until it reached his stomach. Suddenly, the tile disappeared leaving nothing but the faint smell of lye and the taste of bile. Death crept higher still until it reached John's neck, wrapping its fingers around his throat and clawing at his face until finally his eyes were open, glassy and dull. His breathing had slowed and gone ragged and his heart was almost silent in his chest but he could still hear it struggle against a million degrees. His skin had crawled to a stop around him and every emotion halted deep inside his brain. Each thought rotted, surrounded by an ocean of black as memories boiled slowly to the surface. The sound of a telephone ringing. A man's voice. A car he never saw zoomed past a street he knew only by name. Blood that wasn't his. An image of River alone in the middle of the night—

And then he broke.

Awake and alive, John curled in on himself and let out a choked sob. His heart burned his chest and on his sleeve. He'd swallowed a whole star without knowing and it burned and every cell choked and heaved and spluttered at the heat. Hydrogen pumped through all his nerves as thermonuclear fusion ran him ragged. He writhed on the floor, feeling the hydrogen singeing and the helium rising to the surface. It popped under his skin and it hurt. It hurt. It hurt like 71% hydrogen and 27% helium and all the heavier elements that sank down to his stomach and left holes. He could taste himself reacting, blending the air in his lungs to burn through and make star matter. Stellar wind and particle theory pushed past his brain and settled in his skull, hammering away. Coal and ash filled the inside of his paper mouth (450 degrees of heat: not enough to catch fire, just enough to rip him open, to turn himself inside out, to cook).

So he screamed. The sound rang out sharp and he felt every shell he had collapse. He'd become too heavy, too massive inside his own skin. Electrons collided into protons, birthing neutrons and neutrinos in a burst of inverse beta decay; of electron capture; of bang, bang, crash. His hands fumbled for his hair to yank and pull and that wasn't enough. The flash of pain wasn't enough. He'd gone supernova. He slammed his fist hard into the ground and he could feel his knuckles pop and crunch sickeningly and the pain was so wild for half a moment he wasn't sure he'd be able to come out of it. He sucked in his breath, his stomach tucking in on itself. He swallowed, the pain radiating from his hand. He sucked in more breath, his head spinning in heat and pain and lack of oxygen only helium only hydrogen until he forced the breath out to make rings of smoke and steam.

The world had slipped into shades of yellow and red and orange and white and his eyes hurt so John shut them up tight again, his hands opening only so that he could hold himself on the ground or else he'd fly away all bent and broken and at wrong angles to himself.

He died again.

This time, as he felt the numb slither through his legs, he could feel his veins shedding their skins. He could feel blue underneath all that red, could feel the soft spongy parts of bone soften like chewed gum, could feel deep cold seep into his skin. Ice and dust left fingerprints that rubbed his skin raw. The cold and the numb intertwined, licking his organs and breeding themselves together until John lay on the floor, dead.

This time, while his eyes stared unfocused at the floor, John's heart thundered in his silent chest. His mind blankly watched, all of its contents spilled to the ground like milk from a styrofoam cup. Red and orange faded to white and white twisted itself, pulling and pushing and spitting and chugging, leaving smoke. White left black.

But not black. Dark blue.

So he sat up, alive. He shook himself out, testing each body part as if it was brand new with his mouth set in a half grin, half grimace. He clacked his teeth together, stuck his tongue out of his mouth, felt how long his hair had gotten. He clenched his good hand into a fist and quickly unclenched it. The pain in the other hand still roared in his ears, but it had dulled and slowed. He stood up for the first time in eleven hours. He adjusted his shirt and made his way over to the bathroom where he ran his hair through his fingers and stood facing the mirror. John saw the mirror first and then himself. He frowned. His hair had grown far too long, his face too gaunt. He shifted his shoulders to pull taut the muscles in his back, rolling his head forward and then to the side to feel the skin and tissue in his neck burn when he stopped. He wanted to feel like a monster.

He lifted a hand to the mirror, blocking his face. The coolness of the mirror left burns on his fingertips like storms on Neptune. Leaning in close, John pressed his forehead to his hand, his mouth open as he tried to breathe. And suddenly, he leaned back, separating himself from himself. He turned sharply to the left, took a breath, and ran away.

John Smith had died ten times.

River Song had only died once.

And John was going to fix that.


	9. in car crash: silence in the library

CERTIFICATE OF DEATH  
Certificate No. 4022  
1. Name of Deceased (Please Print): River Song  
Personal Peculiars (To Be Filled Out by Medical Examiner)  
Usual Residence:  
2a. Country: England  
2b. City: London  
2c: No.: 1 Greystark Ave.  
2d: Length of Residence or Stay in the city of London immediately prior to death: Life  
3. Single, Married, Widowed, or Divorced: Single  
4. Spouse:  
5. Date of Birth of Decedent: 26 February 1963  
6. Age: 49  
7a. Trade, profession, or particular kind of work: Professor of Archaeology  
7b. Industry or business in which work was done  
8. Birthplace of Decedent: England  
9: How long in England (if of foreign birth):  
10: If Deceased was veteran, name war: Operation Banner, Operation Flavius  
11: Signature of Informant:  
Relationship to Deceased:  
Address: 1**_1_**b 110 Fore**_man D_**rive L**on**don  
12. Name of Father of Decedent: Arthur  
13. Birthplace of Father: England  
14. Maiden Name of Mother of Decedent: Karen Zucker  
15. Birthplace of Mother: Scotland

Medical Certificate of Death (To be filled in by Medical Examiner)  
16: Place of Death:  
16a: City: London  
16c: Name of Hospital or Institution: Albion Hospital  
17: Date and Hour of Death: 1 January 2012  
18: Sex: Female  
19: Color or Race: White  
20: Approximate Age: 46

21: I hereby certify (a) that in accordance with Section 878-20 and 878-30 of the Administrative Code for the City of London, I went to and took charge of the dead body at St. Peters Morgue this 1st day of January 2012,  
(b) that I examined the body and investigated the circumstances of this death, and  
I further certify from the investigation (complete autopsy)* and (examination)* that in my opinion death occurred on the date and at the hour stated above and resulted from (accident)* and (d) that the causes of death were

crushed chest & Abdomen;_  
Hemothorax & Hemoperitoneus_  
in car crash._

John stared at item 11. His shaking hands had forced himself to write his address already, even if the ink had gotten away from him on a few letters. 11. He pressed one thumb to cover the number only to take his hand away as if he'd been burned. He tore his eyes away to read the whole certificate again. He felt like he'd missed some detail, some footnote or asterisk or small text that would tell him it all wasn't real. She couldn't be dead. He counted to 21, counted every blank already filled in so neatly by a typewriter and someone else's hand. The white looked too clean, too sterile. Suddenly he wanted to rip the board in half, rip off the chained little pen, and run away and never look back.

But he had to sign.

Grinding his teeth, John pressed the pen to paper and watched a slow inkblot develop where his name would go. John Smith. Informant. Finally his name appeared on the paper, peppered with blots. His signature was sloppy; he'd never perfected it. The script slanted and slowed and shook. It looked like a child's. His eyes scanned over his work and he bit down hard on the inside of his cheek. His name looked hollow on the black and white paper. Beginning to taste blood, he looked at the top of the paper once again.

Name of Deceased. River Song.

Her name didn't belong at the top of some government file, her name in some alien handwriting. It wasn't his handwriting, the way he looped the R with a flourish when he wrote her Christmas card. The "v" didn't slide out of his pen like a check mark. The last "r" didn't drop down below the line because he was rushed because she was walking in the door right now-

Relationship to Deceased.

John felt his whole body go cold and suddenly he stood up and walked over to the woman behind the counter at the hospital.

"How is it that you think you can condense a whole person's life into 21 questions, of which 2 of them don't even directly relate to the person? People are dying and people are dead and you're sitting there letting their lives go into-into-into paperwork!" John spluttered, his mind running so fast his mouth couldn't keep up.

"There are stars out there that live for billions and billions of years and don't do what these people here have done. There are teachers and students and lawyers and doctors and professors of archaeology that are being reduced to their titles, to their names, not to their faces. You count the years they've been alive but you don't give the people they cared about the opportunity to talk about what they did with them! They're more than just numbers and files they're people, but you can't see it from here. It can't all be black and white and type and pen and nothing about how they breathed or laughed or wrote!"

The woman stared at him, her eyes wide.

John turned and sat back down again, embarrassed at his outrage but still furious nonetheless. He bit his tongue as he looked back down at number 11.

Relationship to Deceased:

Boyfriend felt wrong in his mouth, lover too formal. Every word he tried didn't fit but, then again, how was he supposed to sum up four months of phone calls and stargazing and sweet nothings in his ear and hand holding and dinner and counting trucks that passed underneath the bridge at four and his dreams all in a single word? John wanted to go back over there and yell at the counter lady some more but he'd already made his point. Instead, John shut his eyes and tapped the pen to his forehead. Hard. A small red spot formed and suddenly he looked down and carefully (tongue-between-his-teeth carefully) scratched out the word.

He handed the clipboard to the woman behind the counter and left.

Relationship to Deceased: Sweetie.

That night, John dreamt in red. He saw a red car zoom down a red and crash into a woman with red heels and red lips and then red all over. Blood poured from her mouth every time she tried to speak and there was no one to hear her.

"River!"

Silence.

And when John woke up in the middle of the night, feeling nothing beside him, he lay there for a while before he lifted his arm to cover his eyes and cry.

21: I hereby certify (a) that in accordance with Section 878-20 and 878-30 of the Administrative Code for the City of London, I went to and took charge of the dead body at St. Peters Morgue this 1st day of January 2012,  
(b) that I examined the body and investigated the circumstances of this death, and  
I further certify from the investigation (complete autopsy)* and (examination)* that in my opinion death occurred on the date and at the hour stated above and resulted from (accident)* and (d) that the causes of death were

crushed chest & Abdomen;_  
Hemothorax & Hemoperitoneus_  
in car crash._

She wouldn't want this.

She would want him to be out with Amy and Rory, eating dinner and making jokes in between bites of fish fingers and custard or some other horrible food combination he'd invented. She would want him at work while he hummed and recorded some new errant star. She would want him to try and be happy. She wouldn't want him bugging the entire theoretical physics and engineering departments, asking more questions and taking mental notes. She wouldn't want him sitting in the apartment-turned-lab that looked far worse than the junkyard he'd taken her to. She wouldn't him to try to save her.

Tongue sticking out of his mouth, John determinedly consulted the textbook in front of him before shutting it and slipping it back onto the shelf. It was four in the morning and silence in the library. He shut his eyes once, leaning against the bookcase for support. When his body started to fall over, John woke up just in time to keep himself from falling to the floor.

River.

He carried four books back to the table, opened one, and began to read.

crushed chest & Abdomen;_  
Hemothorax & Hemoperitoneus_  
in car crash._

"Why do you lie with your legs ungainly huddled?"

River?

Blinking back bright, John sat up quickly. There was nothing. Just white. He stood up on shaky legs.

"River?" His voice cracked. His lips were dry.

"It hurts my heart to watch you."

John spun around and found himself mere inches from River Song. Desperately, he reached out to grab her by the back of her head and brought her desperately to him for a kiss. She returned the kiss deeply, her hands traveling to rest on his chest. His hand grasped greedily at her hips, pulling her even closer. He didn't let her go.

She broke the kiss, pressing her forehead to his. Their breathing was ragged and John nuzzled his nose against her nose.

"And you wonder why I shake you by the shoulder…"

John furrowed his brow as he moved to kiss the bump in her nose.

"I missed you, River."

"Drowsy, you mumble and sigh and turn your head…"

John stopped breathing, shaking his head desperately against hers.

"No, River, no—just please no—"

"You are too young to fall asleep forever. And when you sleep you remind me of the—"

And John woke up.

Picking his head up from the textbook, he felt the page separate from his forehead with a only a small tear. He sat for a moment, his eyes glazed over and unfocused. Then, he slammed his hand against the table. The noise rang softly.

"Dead," he finished, gritting his teeth, before getting back to work.


	10. an interlude: river in black

River.

River.

River.

River. River. River. River. River.

River.

He lay on his back and stared, watching the fan spin in circles over his head. He tried to count. He succeeded. When the numbers began to count themselves, he turned to face the wall and stared again.

The problem with remembering everything was remembering her. When John opened his eyes, he could sit through hours of dreams that never were, if he wanted. As he started to remember the way she moved, he stood up and put on his clothes, pulling on pants and socks and shirt and then wandering into the bathroom. He could see her smile as he watched himself in the mirror, one hand in his hair and one hand on his toothbrush. He could remember the way her hair felt underneath his palm as he ate breakfast and drove to work. He could remember time spent with her minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day.

John started dreaming after her. He could still remember the sounds of her pen sliding easily across some undergrad's essay and the sounds of want right before desire. He could remember the warmth of her hands and arms as he hugged her, as he tried to squeeze her until she understood what she meant to him. "Come back!" he'd cried. He remembered the smell of her shampoo and the smell of her coat and he remembered shutting his eyes when he got the phone call so he turned and ran away from the images of a second of death he never saw. He ran away. And as he ran away, he ran to her.

His prayers were answered. His dreams had come back in full swing and he got to see her. Every night, John got his River dreams and every morning she wouldn't be there.

That night, John closed his eyes and dreamt of River.

She stood and her form swam and swum and he reached for her, his fingers aching. When he finally grabbed her, he swore a million times he'd never let her go.

River stood in her great fur coat and when she tried to speak, no sound came out.

"I'm trying, River. Believe me. I'm building it, and I'm trying. I'm going to get you back."

River opened her mouth and nothing came out.

"Oh, River, River, River, River—" he mumbled, pressing his face into her hair. "I'm trying. I just need more time. I'm going to get you back."

River closed her mouth and pressed closer to him. When they kissed, she tasted like ashes.

When he woke, the ashes were gone and so was she.

River.

River.

River.


End file.
